Bits and Pieces
by Miss Four
Summary: Fable 2-centric. The tales floating around Albion always seem to leave out bits and pieces of the Hero's tales: the very things that make those Heroes human. Fears, love, untold incidents. It's high time these stories are told. -A collection of one shots-
1. Damned Banshees

**So, I wasn't originally planning to post this up. I haven't written a fanfiction in ages, and to suddenly come out with a bunch of one-shots concerning a game I just beat and never finished playing the original to? It seemed a bit silly, really. But, after looking over the two I have finished, I knew I was going to write more, and I hate keeping my writing all to myself. The fabulousness should be shared with the entire world!**

**So, here is the first: a bit of a rant that popped into my mind after fighting with the creepiest monster I've ever fought in any video game. **

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing, save for my take on Female Sparrow's Character and my hatred for Banshees._**

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1. Damned Banshees

Damn Theresa, Damn Heroism, and, for an extra thought, Damn everything.

If there was one thing Sparrow hated more than anything else within the entire world—Lucien, Evil, Drunkards, and people who kicked her dog withstanding—it was those Damned Banshees.

Sparrow was fine with every other terrifying monster she'd encountered. Alright, bring on Twelve of those Gigantic, annoying Trolls. Fine then, bring on your best armed Bandits. Unleash the hordes of Hollow Men, Hobbes, and Balverines. But, once the word 'Banshee' entered her train of thought, or even if the diabolical monster were to be brought up in a conversation, Sparrow miraculously transformed into a pile of sniveling goo.

Trolls, gigantic as they were, didn't seem to tower over Her.

Bandits didn't send out creepy little children to attack Her.

Hollow Men didn't make the world around Her seem lifeless and empty.

Hobbes didn't take the form of a Human.

But, most importantly, Balverines didn't read Sparrow's heart and soul, Balverines didn't dig into her conscious and throw her deepest regrets and sins into her face.

Sparrow's secrets were her own. Her sins were her own. Her memories were her own. And to have an eerily familiar voice whisper and coo her secrets and sins and memories was terrifying. It was shameful, even if only Sparrow's faithful dog and her own ears were the only witnesses to the verbal lashing.

The worst part, however, was how the battles always proved to affect her after words. After she'd killed the monster, after she'd trudged towards the nearest Inn, after she'd rented out a room, those whispered words still haunted her. Within the dark, strange, alcohol-reeking bedroom, Sparrow felt humiliated, hopeless, empty, ridiculous, and as Un-heroic as one can possibly feel.

Sparrow was a Hero. She was sure of that now, after all she'd been through and the countless Villagers who'd cheered her name. And to be reminded that she, too, was Human, that she, too, had fears, that, she, too, was able to commit sin…if knocking Sparrow off her High Horse was the Banshee's Group-focused wish, than they were certainly succeeding.

Alas, Sparrow got over it. Though she shivered as she awoke the following morning, and though the stench of swamps coated her nostrils, Sparrow got over it. She had to—after all, heaven forbid if the great Hero Sparrow showed more than a moment worth of weakness.

Hours later, Sparrow would shed the haunting echo of the Banshee's scream and return to her usual silent, strong self.

Until she ran into another.

The process would repeat itself until she destroyed yet another of the hellish creatures, when, attempting to catch her breath and sanity, she would think one single sentence.

_Damn Theresa, Damn Heroism, and, for an extra thought, Damn everything._


	2. Secret

**I've personally admired Sister Hannah "Hammer"'s character since...well, not really until the abbot died. After that, I realized how awesome she was, and imagined what relationship Hammer and Sparrow might've had. Somehow, it went from Friendly to Romantic in my mind, and this is what happened. This shot takes place before the first visit to the Tattered Spire, but, obviously after the first (?) visit to Oakvale. **

**And though I don't think I really need to point this out, but this Sparrow is the Male Sparrow--an entirely different character than the Sparrow in the last one-shot. I've got to find names other than Sparrow for these two, since I have an inkling I'll be using them more. **

**I don't own anything except for my take on the character of the Male Sparrow.**

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2. Secret

Sparrow looked at Hammer. Hammer looked at Sparrow.

And they kept their secret.

They knew that Theresa probably understood why Sparrow's lips would purse whenever he was tasked with a mission that separated the trio (including Sparrow's faithful hound, of course). She, being the all-knowing being that she was, more than likely knew of the wordless confession that had both embarrassed and liberated the two. She had, without a doubt, stumbled upon something quite unexpected.

The fact of the matter was, Sparrow, mute and anti-social as he was, had harbored a keen fondness of the well-muscled woman. She _was_, after all, quite the singer, and though, at first, her relentless chatter had annoyed Sparrow to no end, he had begun to miss Hammer's meaningless train of thought. He had grown to appreciate her as both a fellow Hero and Friend, and had expected, for quite a while, for that to be all that came from their relationship.

Perhaps it was fighting with Her for the first time that ruined it all. Or, maybe, it was the time they spent apart from one another. Either way, something happened, something disastrous and beautiful. It was irrevocable, as though it was written into stone long before either had a choice in the matter.

Sparrow fell in love with Hammer, and that was the end of it.

When he wasn't thinking of avenging his Sister, he was thinking of the rather unruly girl. What was she doing at the time his thoughts wandered to the memory of her face? Was she alright? Was she protecting herself? Who was she with? Was she thinking of someone?

Was she thinking of Him?

Having never been _in _love before, Sparrow immediately disregarded his thoughts and feelings, while he could. He tried his absolute hardest to focus on the mission before him, to banish any and all thoughts of Sister Hannah and the memories that followed. And yet, more than once, he caught himself whistling the tune Hammer had been singing on the day they met.

Sparrow's dog had no opinion on the matter.

As could be predicted, they reunited, and Sparrow found himself torn. Sitting by her side at the occasional pub, watching as she tore through one enemy after the other…it all increased his longing to always keep the girl in his thoughts, weakened his will to fight, and made him experience feelings he'd never encountered before.

So, in hopes to better understand these feelings, he acted on them.

It was both a terrible and a wonderful mistake.

"You can't just…go around doin' things like that!" She'd announced, promptly after taking a swing towards Sparrow's face.

She was smiling, though, and blushing. And she helped him up, though she hurried away seconds later. Once again, the Hero was terribly confused.

Had she enjoyed the kiss, or not?

He came to the conclusion that she had just the next day, when, walking side-by-side, their hands had brushed, and a cautious Sparrow wrapped his index finger around Hammer's. Much to his delight, she didn't pummel him.

Hammer fell in love with Sparrow, and that was the end of it.

They made what they could out of their time together. They spoke in the only way Hammer and Sparrow could speak: through words and touches, through laughter and smirks. And, until Theresa interrupted them, they forgot what they were supposed to be doing.

When they were summoned by Theresa, however, they forgot all they were together and remembered, albeit unwillingly, all they were as Heroes. They kept their shared memories locked away, returned to their straight-faced selves, and awaited the next possible moment they'd be together.

Until then...well, until then, they were nothing more than friends.


	3. Narcissism and Love

**Wow, I'm exhausted. This one-shot took alot out of me, especially trying to get Reaver into character.**

**Even though I'm worried I messed Reaver's character up, this is definitly my favorite one-shot so far. I'm thinking about writing a companion piece to it.**

**I hope I made this as good as you wanted it to be, _almostinsane_! And thanks for helping me finally get this done! I've been wanting to write a romantic Reaver piece for a while now! **

**Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything but my very short take on Female Sparrow's character.**

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3. Narcissism and Love

She was beautiful.

He hated to admit it, even if it was only to himself. But he knew, during those hot nights in Samarkand when, lying in his bed, all he could think of was her, her voice and eyes, that she was beautiful. He would struggle to sleep on those nights, those very same nights when he could swear he felt her lying beside him, when he thought with his heart and soul that she was there, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, calling his name:

_Reaver. Reaver, my dear. My darling, my beloved. _

He knew she was beautiful the first time he dreamt of her, dreamt of holding her in his arms, of dancing with her, of doing other, far less innocent things with the seemingly innocent woman. The dream repeated itself time and time again, even on the nights when, in a sudden act of weakness, he'd lured someone home with him.

He'd done it a million times since he realized Sparrow was beautiful. Sometimes with the same person, sometimes with a person he'd just met. He'd done it back in Bloodstone, for the decades upon decades he'd lived there, but here in Samarkand, it was different. In Samarkand, he'd done it simply to get her out of his mind, to forget how badly his heart ached for her. Sometimes, it worked—Reaver would forget about the woman he'd only known for a short while, and he'd feel free, liberated from his desperate longing.

Until he fell asleep.

The second his eyes closed, she was there, laying by his side, smiling, happy, _his._ He'd awake the next morning smiling, sure that the dream had been reality, eager to see Sparrow lying by his side, only to be disappointed. The imbecile wrapped in Reaver's blankets would think the smile was for them, only adding to his anger and regret.

It was a maddening thing, the way memories of Sparrow made him feel. It'd been a long while since he'd wanted anything, and the want to see Sparrow again, to know she was happy, safe, and content was so strong it hurt him. The confusion certainly didn't help—what did he care if Sparrow was happy? He definitely didn't care that Sparrow's life, let alone her happiness, was on the line the two times he'd attempted to double-cross her.

But he did now, damn it, and that only added to his own self-loathing.

It was as un-Reaver as a situation could get: hating himself, pitifully longing for someone else, unable to enjoy the wonders that surrounded him. By keeping himself away from what he wanted, he realized, he'd ruined the entire idea of being eternal.

And what he wanted as Sparrow.

Months passed in the blink of an eye, each day and night filled with the same longing and attempts to forget the very thing his heart yearned for until, after yet another night of dreaming, he knew it had to stop.

He left Samarkand, turned his back on the "exotic substances" and "uninhibited people", and sought out something even greater than carefree days and wild nights. He still dreamt of her, of course, during those days it took to return. But, this time, he dreamt happily, knowing that, regardless of how either of them had changed, those dreams were about to come true.

Even if it would be for just one night.

Determination and strength renewed, Reaver marched to where he'd discovered she'd taken residence. He didn't miss a beat as he paused in front of the house, knocked on the door, and waited.

He knew.

He knew the second the doorknob turned that, behind that door was Sparrow, the woman who'd haunted his dreams, who'd taken over nearly every day of his life in Samarkand.

It took all he had not to burst through the door and take her in his arms, to kiss every inch of her face.

"I do believe something terrible has happened, Sparrow, dear." Reaver announced once he caught sight of her. He suddenly felt breathless, like he'd ran the entire length it took to get there.

"And…what's that?" Sparrow, still beautiful in Reaver's eyes, appeared confused and alarmed. Even in the darkly-lit atmosphere that surrounded them, Sparrow seemed to shine.

Reaver examined her for a second before taking her chin, leaning forward, and pressing his lips against hers.

It was everything he'd dreamt it would be.

"I think you've made me fall in love with you."


	4. Lips remain Sealed

**Ah-ha! And so I return. **

**I haven't been able to play Fable II recently, so inspiration has been limited, as could be expected. This little piece (hot off the press, may I add) sort of popped into my mind after listening to _"Sweet Sacrifice" _by Evanescence. It was originally supposed to be Sparrow-to-Theresa-focused, but, somehow ended up transitioning into...whatever this is. I wanted to try my hand at something darker than _Damned Banshees..._I wonder how well I did with that.**

**Yet another FemSparrow piece, 'cause the FemSparrow I've grown accustomed to is closer to my heart than MaleSparrow (sorry, guy).**

**_Yet again, I own nothing 'cept my take on FemSparrow's character, and the icky, warm water I'm currently guzzling. _**

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4. Lips remain Sealed

Bite your lip, hold back your scowl, hush those harsh thoughts like the good little girl you are. It would all end badly, you know, if you broke the rule you're forcing yourself to follow. You know the one: "Keep Sweet". Don't let anyone know of your true feelings, it means, don't let that pretty little mask you're wearing break. Because, as you've discussed with yourself many times before, it would end terribly, horribly, if ever you were to show your true colors.

And you know of those colors, too, don't you, Little Sparrow? Crimson Red to make up the anger that's so hard to control, the one that Lucien first conjured up some Twenty Years ago when that little incident happened—the very one that changed your entire life—, the very same one that spikes when dearest Hammer goes on and on about who knows what. Deep Green follows, making up the envy you constantly feel for those scurrying around you, shouting your name, "Sparrow, Sparrow! Hero, Hero!" That envy that haunts you, the envy for a _normal _life with _normal _companions. And, to top it all off, there's that nasty little grey, that abysmal grey that, in an ironic sense, makes up every empty little piece of you. That emotionless part of you, the one you know so well: the one that pops its dismal little head out whenever you're striking down an opponent, or maybe slicing the head off of one of those gigantic bugs you hate so much.

Hate: something you've been feeling quite a lot recently, but you already know that. You've known that for a good amount of time, haven't you? It's something you've been struggling with, especially when you're around the very reason you've forced yourself to follow the sacred rule.

You hate her, don't you?

You thank her, though, of course you do. Without her, you'd be a mere nothing; a corpse buried six feet under. She saved you from death, took you under her wing, fed you and clothed you, trained you to be the Hero you know you are. But, you still hate her. With every fiber of your being, you do, and at times, you wonder why your companions don't seem to hate her nearly as much as you do. You think, "If only she'd left me dead."

"If only she'd kept her nose where it belonged."

"If only we'd never met her."

Because you've lost so much, and it's all her fault, isn't it? It's a childish way to think of the entire situation, but you're sure it's true, aren't you? At times, the bad memories outweigh the good ones, and you wonder what Theresa would do if you attempted to cut all ties with her. To hell with being a Hero, to hell with The Spire, to hell with it all.

But she'd just find some other way to lure you back into her little game, wouldn't she? Besides, you think of the World, of those who have suffered and may very well suffer. And you feel compassion in this thought, and you abandon all hope of ever being free.

Because it's up to you, isn't it?

The fact crushes you like a weight if ever there was one, and your physical self can almost feel the pressure weighing down upon your shoulders, ruthlessly. Somehow, in the matter of Twenty Years, you've been forced into the role of Hero, of Savior. The people, weak as they are, _need _you to protect them. You wonder, "When did it become _my _job?"

You have so many questions that can only be answered by Theresa, but you, dear Sparrow, are too busy "Keeping Sweet" and holding back what you truly feel to ask. If you open your mouth, you know, it will all come pouring out in one big mess, and how horrid would that be? That would ruin the nothing-everything you hold so dear, and we can't have that, now can we?

So, for the sake of this nothing-everything, you will remain as obedient as the dog that follows you around and your lips will remain pursed, and you'll hold it all in like one should. But you know that, one day, perhaps soon, perhaps far into the future, you will burst at the seams. You won't be able to hold in the rage anymore, and you'll burst.

And nothing good will come of that.


End file.
